The Doctor's Untold Adventures
by Riley W.M. Rookes
Summary: A collection of one-shots I've written. They are not consciously connected.


I do not own Doctor Who, but I wish I did.

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**Battersea, December 24th 1942**

"Grandpa Digby, Grandpa Digby!" Margaret and Peter shout as they run into my room, my son Timothy and his wife follow them at a slower pace.

"Ah ha! Peter, Margie, Tim, Mary, it's wonderful to see you. I'm so glad you could make it to visit me for Christmas," I say as Cyril and Lily run in followed by my niece Madge and her husband.

After a few moments of greeting, the children form a neat semicircle at my feet and the adults sit nearby to chat.

"So, who wants to hear a Christmas story," I ask. "When I was around your age, I met a man. He was a magical man and he had a magical box, a big blue box. He was called the Doctor," I begin my story of the magical event that had occurred exactly 50 years ago. I told them also of the magical Miss Montague and the governess made of ice, the strange reptilian lady and her beautiful wife, the absurd potato man and the thousands of malicious snowmen that surrounded the house (I exaggerated a little here and there).

"Is that story actually true?" Margaret asks, skeptically.

"True? Of course it's true. All of my stories are true!" I exclaim.

"Like the one about how you invented fish?" Peter says slightly sarcastically.

"You've got me there, that was a story my governess, Miss Montague, told me when I was young. But the Doctor is real. Just ask your father," I tell Peter and Margaret. All four children run to Timothy.

"Is it true, Uncle Tim? Have you seen the Doctor?" Cyril asks.

"Yes, but he didn't usually wear a bow tie. I knew him as my teacher. Professor John Smith, that's what I called him," Tim says, "He told me to stop hiding my intellect. I'm glad I did. Now, I'm a professor at Cambridge and its all because of what happened in 1913," Tim began telling of an event that had occurred while he was at boarding school, a magical event, just like my own story had been. He told about animated scarecrows and possessed villagers, a dark-skinned maid and a magical blue box. At the end,he pulls out a fob watch and says, "This is the fob watch the Doctor gave me. It saved my life during the war."

"Wow!" Peter exclaims.

"I still don't believe you!" Margaret persists after the story is finished.

"Well, I've met the Doctor too," Madge says, "Exactly four years ago, I met a spaceman with his helmet on backwards. For the rest of the night, we went from Police Box to Police Box looking for a particular one. The next morning, I went back to that same spot, but it was gone! Then, last year, … well, I'll let Cyril and Lily tell that one," Madge says. Then, Cyril and Lily rush into a story about the "Caretaker" and what had occurred last year in my country house. I smile, it sounds like something the Doctor would do.

"I still don't believe there's a Doctor, you're all making up stories," Margaret says as I hear a sound I have heard only three times before.

"Margie, just you wait," I say as a wind sweeps through the room and a blue box appears right in front of the fireplace. The door opens and out steps the Doctor, looking almost exactly the same even though 50 years have passed.

"Oh, so sorry, I happen to have appeared in the wrong place," he says.

"Doctor?!" I gasp. He turns around and looks at me.

"Yes, I most often respond to that. I also respond to John Smith, caretaker, or get off this planet. However, that last one isn't really a name," he says. Then, he looks around the room and spots Madge.

"Madge Arwell, how are you?" He asks.

"Wonderful, it's Christmas. Merry Christmas Doctor," Madge says.

"That's good," the Doctor says and begins walking along the semicircle of people that had formed.

He reaches Tim and says, "Tim, Timothy, Tim, my you've grown."

"It really is you! You look different too," Timothy says.

"Yeah, I do that and you're Digby Latimer," he says as he completes his round and reaches me.

"Merry Christmas, Doctor. Please stay and have Christmas with me and my family," I say.

"Oh, you're Uncle Digby, aren't you?" The Doctor says.

"Yes, that's what they call me," I gesture to Madge, Reg, Lily, and Cyril.

"And Timothy must be your son," the Doctor deduces.

"Yes," I say.

"You're actually real. I can't believe it. He's actually real," Margaret babbles.

"And you are?" the Doctor asks her.

"Oh my gosh, They've all been talking about you!" Margaret exclaims.

"Oh, She's Margaret, but we all call her Margie and I'm Peter. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Grandpa Digby is always talking about you."

"Please stay for Christmas," Madge says.

"Oh, Christmas," the Doctor's eyes widen slightly, "Sorry, I've got to go. I said I'd help a friend. I've better go," the Doctor says and rushes back to the TARDIS. After the sound faded, we all walked into the dining room for supper.

On the way, I heard Lily whisper to a shocked Margaret, "We told you so."


End file.
